


Roasted

by TheFalconWarrior



Series: Life is a Rollercoaster (A Big, Twisty One) [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alfred Pennyworth is Excited, Batfam Assembled, Cass Always Wins, Damian Does Not Understand His Siblings, Dick is the Nice Brother (Somehow), Gen, Jason's Weakness is Revealed, Siblings are Fun, Thanksgiving, Tim is Evil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 09:49:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19461475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFalconWarrior/pseuds/TheFalconWarrior
Summary: Damian wonders who thought it acceptable to invite three incompetent and thoroughly nonsensical vigilantes, and Cass, to the manor simultaneously. Alternatively: It’s Thanksgiving and the Batfam is in the house.





	Roasted

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt #3: Roasted  
> Yes, Bruce is missing for most the story. No, no Steph, she’s a Batkid through and through but not a Wayne sibling. No Duke either (although I’m not completely sure if he’s still around or not?)  
> Confession: I don't usually read Damian Wayne-centered fics myself. I've read too many fics where he's overdone--either as a victim, a brat, or assassination-inclined. So I hope I did the character justice.

When Damian entered the kitchen that morning, Pennyworth was already at work in the kitchen, the counters covered with vegetables and spices and dishes, and Cassandra. She stood on her toes on the counter, riffling through the top shelf of the highest cabinets and pulling out spice bottles for Alfred to see and either approve or reject. 

“Tt,” the sound easily caught both Pennyworth and Cassandra’s attention. “Are you not too old to be engaged in such immaturity as standing on counters, Cassandra?” 

Cassandra simply smiled as she reached in for another bottle, presented it to Alfred’s nod, and nimbly leapt off the counter, landing catlike in front of Damian. Ruffling his hair, she said, “Still taller than you, though, baby brother.” 

“That had no relation to my question,” Damian huffed, already knowing any indignance against the “baby brother” comment would go completely ignored, but Cassandra was already wandering away towards a cutting board set at the island. 

“Carrots, Alfred?” 

“Quarter inch slices, my dear, thank you very much,” Alfred said, scraping something into a saucepan. The kitchen was immediately filled with the sound of sizzling and a spicy smell. “Master Damian, I have set up breakfast in the dining room for today. Miss Cassandra, do please make sure there are enough carrots left for the turnovers.” 

Cassandra shot him a sweet smile and a thumbs-up as she munched on a piece of carrot. 

Shaking his head and wondering why he, the youngest, was the most mature of his father’s children, Damian left the kitchen, entering the hall that lead to the dining room. Damian, his father, and Pennyworth (and any of his other ‘siblings’ who happened to be in the manor at the time) generally took meals in the kitchen. The dining room was reserved for more formal events not quite at the level to merit the dining hall, and for days when there were too many people present to fit in the kitchen. Or, it seemed, days that Pennyworth had already covered the kitchen table and island with his cooking implements. 

He met his father coming up the hall. “Good morning, Father.” 

“Morning, Damian.” 

Cassandra poked her head around the kitchen door and grinned. “Morning, Bruce.” 

Damian watched his father’s face light up. “Cassandra!” 

Cassandra’s smile somehow seemed simultaneously bigger and softer. She stepped out from the doorway to give Bruce a hug. 

“Decided to surprise you,” she said. “Plane came this morning.” 

“Thank you for coming,” Bruce said softly, and Cass finally pulled back, grinning widely and shaking a finger at him. 

“Of course,” she said. “Thanksgiving. Christmas. Family time.” 

Bruce smiled back, and Cass slipped back into the kitchen. 

“Breakfast is in the dining room, Father,” Damian said, and Bruce smiled at him. 

“Thank you, Damian.” 

*** 

It was raining. Damian’s father had left the house after breakfast and Cassandra and Alfred were still bustling about the kitchen. Damian himself sat at a window seat in Bruce’s favorite sitting room, watching the rain. 

It was rather depressing, he thought to himself, to be able to see gravestones from your sitting room window. 

The front door opened and then slammed shut. There were footsteps in the hall, and Alfred’s voice could be heard: “Master Timothy!” 

Curious in spite of himself, Damian stood up. Titus lifted his head from where he was curled up by the door and followed Damian as he slipped out. 

Drake stood in the hall. Rain dripped from his long hair and expensive black suit and there was a puddle of water at his feet. And yet, there was a ridiculous smile on his face. 

“Sorry, Alfred,” he was saying. “Storm came out of _nowhere_.” 

“I understand, Master Timothy,” Alfred said, handing him a towel. “Please do try not to drip _too_ much on the stairs.” 

“Yes Alfred!” Drake called as he headed up the stairs. _And so it begins_ , Damian thought to himself, and melted back into the sitting room. 

*** 

Damian did not mind helping with the cooking. Although he rarely ever cooked with Pennyworth, Dick appreciated company in his kitchen (Tim had once revealed that it had been somewhat of a tradition in Dick’s past. Dick tended to only make the effort to cook if he had a guest, but any of the siblings who were currently occupying Dick’s apartment would always join him.) 

(Jason, on the other hand, trusted absolutely no one while he was cooking (except maybe Alfred). Tim cooked for the sole purpose of sustenance and didn’t really care either way. Cass, when she was in Gotham, spent most of her time crashing her siblings’ and Stephanie’s apartments rather than staying at her own. She enjoyed helping with cooking, but no one had any idea how she actually kept herself fed in Hong Kong. And Bruce...the extent of his cooking skills ended at toast, cereal, and instant noodles.) 

So no, the reason Damian had been avoiding the kitchen, and Alfred, since breakfast did not involve a distaste towards cooking, aiding in the cooking, or even, really, being in the same room as Drake. He was just rather wary of _how long_ he may be forced to stay in the room, as it grew increasingly chaotic and confined as his sibling trickled in. 

It was the first time since Damian had joined the family that Pennyworth had the chance to hold “a proper family Thanksgiving dinner” (say that in a British accent). An alien invasion in Australia and a zombie uprising had successfully deterred previous attempts. 

And really, Damian could appreciate the old butler’s enthusiasm. All of his charges under one roof (with some disaster impending--”I’ve been assured this kind of thing is perfectly normal amongst siblings,” Drake had informed Bruce and Alfred after an incident involving himself, Damian, an increasingly passionate battle of computer sabotage, and a stray virus on the bat computer. “Although, granted, it usually involves less death threats and physical violence, but hey, what can you expect right?” Damian was honestly unsure how Tim had managed to talk the both of them out of some terrible punishment from either their father or their grandfather that time.). A large and wonderful dinner. 

But honestly, as Damian watched the man tackle his project with incredible zeal—the growing mountains of food in the kitchen and the stacks of utensils and other supplies waiting to at the dining table to be formed into an elaborate setting—Damian was a little worried at what form Alfred’s enthusiasm would take on the “family time” aspect of the evening. They were all doing pretty well, as a family...but Alfred could be rather heavy-handed in getting what he wanted. 

If Pennyworth dared to go there... 

Anyways. It would be getting dark soon, Jason, Dick, and Bruce would be arriving, and then they could have dinner. Damian figured he wouldn’t be stuck in the kitchen for _too_ long. 

Tim, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows, was stirring something in a large bowl at the counter. Cass was at the table, kneading biscuit dough. 

“Ah, Master Damian,” Alfred said, looking up from his position at the stove. “Could you please assist Cassandra with the biscuits? Master Timothy, if you could take over the cranberry sauce.” 

Cass winked at Damian as she handed him a cookie cutter. “Bet I can do more than you.” 

Damian met her eyes solemnly, poising the tool over the slab of dough as Cassandra mirrored his position. “You are on, Cassandra. I hope you are prepared to lose.” 

Tim snorted from the stove. “Dramatic much?” 

Damian sniffed in response. “I am surprised, Timothy. If anyone in this family has a flair for unnecessary drama, it would be you.” 

“No,” said Cass. “Jason. Or Bruce,” she added thoughtfully, and Tim chuckled. 

“Definitely Bruce.” 

“No,” Damian disagreed, “Of the two, Todd would be the more dramatic, as evidenced with his...showdowns with Father and the way he feels the need to enter a fight 'guns blazing' despite actually using rubber bullets.” 

“As opposed to, y’know, the whole broody-mood, stepping out of shadows and disappearing without a word thing and dressing up like a bat.” 

“Indeed, instead he puts on a red helmet and a leather jacket every night.” 

“Dick?” Cassandra offered, and her brothers paused to ponder this. 

“With all the bantering and flipping around...” Tim said slowly. “Dick’s actually a very good candidate for most dramatic appearances.” 

“Runs in family,” Cass announced cheerfully. “Ready set go!” 

“Cassandra!” Damian exclaimed against Cassandra’s “You snooze, you lose, little brother!” and Tim’s snort of laughter, and immediately put all his focus into turning out little circles of dough. 

*** 

Jason showed up about an hour later. 

“Hey Alfred,” he said, clapping the butler on the shoulder. 

“Master Jason,” Alfred said, with a warm smile. 

“Sorry I’m a little later than I said I’d be, got a little caught up in something,” Jason said, but didn’t elaborate. “Hi, Cass. Replacement. Demon brat.” 

This earned him a cheerful wave from Cass, a raised eyebrow from Tim, and scowl from Damian. No one bothered to ask where he’d been. Jason might not trust them enough to tell but they trusted him enough to let him not tell. 

The second eldest of the family easily slipped up to a counter. “Roast potatoes, Alfred?” he asked, lifting a knife. 

“With rosemary and garlic,” Alfred replied with a nod. “Mind, don’t cut the potatoes _too_ small now Master Jason...” 

*** 

The three younger siblings were kicked out of the kitchen soon after, Jason proclaiming it was time to leave the cooking in the hands of “the real experts”. Damian wandered back into the sitting room, drawing pad in hand. His father had yet to return, and Grayson had yet to show his face. He let himself collapse sideways into an armchair, neck resting against one arm and knees crooked over the other, feet dangling. Sharpening a pencil to a fine point and tapping the opposite end against his lip as he sought a subject in his mind, he smirked and set charcoal to paper. 

*** 

Damian jerked away from his drawing when Drake slid into the room on his socked feet. 

“Who knew potatoes were such a fine art, beyond the traditional disciplines?” he asked in an obviously affected posh accent, eyebrow raised and a smirk curling a corner of his lips. Damian was about to snap some remark along the lines of “why are you making such an imbecilic comment” when someone snorted. 

Damian whipped around and nearly fell off the chair when he spotted Cassandra on the couch. When had _she_ come in? 

“Everything alright, Damian?” Drake was obviously amused. Damian scowled. 

“As a matter of fact, no,” he snapped. “There is obviously something quite wrong with your head.” 

It was Tim’s turn to snort as he flopped down next to Cass. “Thinking about something, Damian? That _really_ wasn’t one of your best.” 

Damian’s scowl deepened, but he couldn’t help sending a quick glance at the clock. 

“Dick will be here,” Cass said simply. Damian’s scowl would have deepened even further, had it been possible, but he settled for a glare at his sister. Cass was fiddling with an Xbox controller, which she handed to Tim. 

“Interesting assumption, Cassandra,” he said loftily, but Cass just shot him a warm, knowing smile. Tim hit a button and the sitting room filled with an exaggeratedly ominous chime of music. 

Damian huffed, seeing his peace disturbed. Somehow it didn’t seem to quite merit leaving the room, yet. After all, Cassandra and Drake were now immersed in the flashes of light and sound blaring from the screen, and despite their frantic and triumphant yells, Damian knew (from long experience, unfortunately) that he would be left unbothered for the next hour or so. 

He tapped his pencil against his sketchpad a few moments, eyes narrowed as he watched Tim lean forward even as Cass’s smirk grew. Finally, he flipped to a clean page, glanced up again, and began to draw. 

*** 

When Dick finally showed up, Cass and Tim had switched games twice, Damian had a fairly respectable sketch of his two youngest siblings, Jason had just joined the gaming session, Alfred had yet to step out of the kitchen and Bruce was still nowhere to be seen. 

"I’m ho-ome,” Dick sang loudly from the foyer. Damian was thankful that the heavy, dark wood doors of the mansion could not easily be slammed against the wall, or else something in the house would have fallen over from the noise. Dramatic entrances, indeed. 

“Hey Dick,” Tim called, without taking his eyes off the screen. “You’re late. Damian was starting to worry.” 

Damian looked up sharply. “I was not worried, Drake.” 

“Aw,” Dick grinned, sticking his head into the room. “You were worried about me, Damian?” 

“No.” 

“He really wasn’t,” Jason drawled. “Timmy here is just trying to hid the fact that _he_ was worried. Really, Tim, there are better ways. What kind of a terrible brother are you?” 

“I’m not a terrible brother,” Tim said easily. “I’m not ashamed of caring.” 

“Timmy’s really not a terrible brother,” Dick agreed with a grin, stepping in. “At least I think not, doesn’t seem like our standards are very high.” 

“ _Ouch_ ,” Jason dramatically placed a hand on his heart. “You’re an even worse brother than Tim.” 

“Don’t start rankings, Jason, you might end up at the bottom,” Tim shot with a grin. 

“I’m the best sister,” Cass announced, throwing her arms into the air. “No contest!” Dick slapped her a high five before dropping onto the sofa next to her. 

Jason snorted. “No contest indeed. Maybe we oughta get Bruce to adopt Steph and see what happens?” 

“Cass would still win, no contest,” Tim said seriously. Damian wasn’t quite sure if he was actually serious or pretending to be. Cass kicked Tim as Dick burst out laughing, and Tim yelped as he fumbled the controller and Jason whooped as he yelled “No fair, that’s _cheating_ Jason!” whilst Dick chuckled, “Technically _Jason_ didn’t do anything,” and Tim stuck out his tongue and decided, “Dick was right, actually, you are all terrible brothers.” Damian sighed and recalled that the room had actually been peaceful at some point today. 

*** 

When Damian returned from getting a glass of water, Dick and Jason had taken over the Xbox controllers. Dick leaned forward from one sofa next to Tim while Jason was sprawled over the other, lazily flicking the joysticks. Cass was perched on the back of his sofa, kicking her legs and watching with a small smile as Dick yelled excitedly and Tim bounced in his seat. 

“Pennyworth has asked me to inform you,” he announced loudly, and waited a beat. Cass and Tim turned to him but Dick only flicked him a glance and Jason didn’t look up at all. 

“Yes, go on brat,” Jason drawled. 

Damian scowled. “I am not a brat.” Jason shrugged. “Pennyworth says the turkey is almost done baking and he wants everyone helping with the food once it is.” 

Jason finally glanced his way. “The turkey is almost done baking, he said?” 

Damian frowned. “Yes. He said the turkey is almost done.” 

“But not almost done _baking_.” Jason paused the game, drawing a surprised protest from Dick, and turned to grin at Damian. 

Damian narrowed his eyes, thinking hard. Jason was up to something...although what that something was, he had no idea. “He said the turkey was almost done.” 

“And you said the turkey was almost done _baking_.” 

“Yes.” he refused to let it sound like a question. 

Jason snorted. “Ah. I see. Well I hope Alfred fries the vegetables before he puts them in the dish, hunh?” 

Damian blinked. Dick snorted and shook his head, but Tim was grinning, too, now. 

“Think he already put the potatoes in the stove?” 

“Yeah, probably has the gravy on the oven, too.” 

“Should get the cranberry sauce out of the freezer. And I hope we have ice-cream in the fridge.” 

“Would go wonderful with the pumpkin tart.” 

“ _What_ are you two going on about?” Damian snapped. Dick was muffling laughter in his hand and Cass was watching the exchange with an amused (and slightly bemused) look. 

“Ah, you wouldn’t understand,” Jason sighed dramatically. “Suppose you broil your toast, too,” he snickered. Cass tilted her head slightly to look at him, and Jason grinned. "That’d be a wonderful breakfast, hunh Cass?” she just smiled a little and shook her head. 

“You are all imbeciles,” Damian decided, and was about to turn to leave. Seeing he was actually starting to get upset, Dick had pity on him. 

“You don’t _bake_ a turkey, Dames, you roast it.” Damian scowled and opened his mouth to comment on the ridiculousness of such a thing. 

“Ah,” said Cass. When everyone turned to look at her, she shrugged. “I was confused, too.” 

Damian noted, a little sullenly, that no one made fun of _her_. 

Tim fell back against the sofa, letting his head land against Dick’s leg. “How come you can bake a chicken though?” 

“DON’T try to answer that,” Jason said threateningly, pointing a finger at Dick, who gave him an innocent, wide-eyed ‘what, me?’ look. “But seriously. A turkey is like, a big, fat chicken.” 

This earned him some odd looks. 

“No, I mean, seriously. Did any of you see Alfred handling the thing? It’s like, this fat, heavy, globby, overgrown raw _chicken._ That used to waddle around. And move. And here Alfred’s picking the damn thing up under its wings so its flopping around and rubbing spices into it and stabbing a knife into it and it’s just. It’s disturbing.” 

Tim had lifted himself up to an elbow and was giving him an 'are you serious' look. Cass grinned and flopped over the back of the sofa while Dick burst out laughing. 

“ _Really_ , Jay? You’re afraid of _raw turkeys_?” 

Damian snorted. “You would have such an irrational fear.” 

“I’m not _afraid_ , a- _idiot,”_ Jason snapped defensively. “It just looks _wrong,_ that that thing was _alive_ once and— _What the—”_ he slapped Cass’s hand away from his neck, and she rolled off the back of the sofa onto the floor behind, giggling. “What the _heck_ , Cass?” 

“I thought you cook, Jason,” Dick said, still amused. 

“Chickens aren’t the size of a _human baby_...” and Dick only started laughing harder. Cass popped up behind the sofa again, grinning and resting an elbow on the back. 

“Heavier than a baby,” she offered, and Jason shuddered. 

“And just how does that make sense?” 

Tim smirked. He caught Damian’s eye and jerked his head at the door before rising and slipping out. Damian scowled, then glanced at the others (who were apparently now engrossed in making turkey invasion contingency plans) and decided he may as well follow. 

Tim was waiting for him right outside the door, and started off down the hall as soon as Damian appeared. 

“Where are you going?” Damian demanded. 

Tim shot him a wicked grin over his shoulder. “To get a turkey.” 

A slow smile spread over Damian’s face. This day may prove to be amusing, after all. 

**Author's Note:**

> Even if English is your first language, there’s a lot you end up not knowing if you learned from a non-native speaker. Or books and TV. Here Damian talks the way he does because that’s how he learned it, not because formal English is somehow a sign of snobbery.  
> Apparently for some reason, even though you can roast or bake a chicken you generally only roast a turkey. Or maybe not. Siblings are siblings, so it doesn’t really matter, I suppose.  
> Where is Tim going to get a turkey from? It’s Tim, he’ll figure it out.  
> Also. I love turkey, I really do. But raw whole turkeys are just disturbing.


End file.
